Unoriginal
by GarryxMrChairFan
Summary: There is a difference between British and English. His soul mate was going to learn that. USUK, AU; prompt fill for Anon on tumblr.


**_Unoriginal_**

~GarryxMrChairFan :3

**Customary Disclaimer:** Any and all recognizable _Hetalia: Axis Powers_ characters © Himaruya Hidekaz.

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**A/N:** This was a prompt fill for my 50 Follower event on my fanfiction blog on tumblr. Anon requested a USUK soul mate AU, and I went with the First Words AU.

Hope you enjoy~

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Arthur wasn't impressed with his soul mate.

Or, perhaps, it was more accurate to say he wasn't impressed with the greeting he'd be receiving from his soul mate, as it was a mildly irritating, very old _"Dude, you're British!"_

Honestly, could there be a more unoriginal phrase? Arthur had been hearing those words since his move to America a couple years previous, and, really, he'd just as soon not hear it again, his soul mate be damned. Plus, he was _English_; there was a great difference.

Unfortunately, most American's didn't even know there _was_ a difference, and so he continued to silently bemoan that fact while outwardly attempting to control his glare reflex every time he met someone new and that was the first thing they noticed about him. Arthur supposed they could be less awed and more mocking of him for it, so it wasn't too bad, but it was old.

As he said: unimpressive.

It was even more unimpressive after having heard it approximately twenty times in one setting, though, and awestruck or not, Arthur was going to brutally murder the next person who commented on his nationality with nothing but his bare hands. He rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to assuage the headache he could already feel.

"Bloody hell, frog, why did I even consider the possibility of this being a good idea?" Arthur turned a glare on his frenemy as the Frenchman chuckled, swirling his drink slowly in the glass.

"Because, _cher_, as unwilling as you are to admit it," he paused to take a sip of the wine, "you are desperate."

Arthur snorted, mildly offended, but turned his head away as his cheeks heated. "Desperate? Why ever would you think that?" _Because it's true,_ he thought dismally.

"Is that not the 'only reason' you would ever be caught dead at anything I invite you to?" Francis smirked.

God, he hated Francis. "Oh, belt up," he muttered, downing his drink.

"This is good for you, _cher!" _Francis chuckled. "You should live a little more, be daring!"

"I do plenty of living, thank you very much." Arthur stared unhappily into his empty cup, frowning. "And I fail to see how searching for people who can't even think past my quite obvious accent is 'being daring'."

"Bah!" Francis shook his head, smiling. "That I do understand, _cher._ I don't see why they do not comment on your unsightly brows instead."

At that Arthur turned and smashed his cup into the Frenchman's face, smirking at the helpless yelp and walking off. "I'm going for another drink," he said casually, tugging Francis' blond hair harshly for good measure and chuckling at the expletive-filled French response he received in turn. Making his way up to the bar, he signaled for another drink and turned his back to lean on the counter, observing the rest of the room.

Arthur couldn't quite recall what exactly was being celebrated in the dimly lit pub, the low glow of golden light outside the windows letting him know it was nearing late evening. He was pretty sure it was some company thing— Francis had mentioned some sort of promotion for one of the employees— but it really had nothing to do with him; he was just there because it would have been impolite to decline the invitation, regardless of the fact that it had been the frog who invited him.

Well, the alcohol was always a factor, but that was in the finer details.

He was enjoying himself nonetheless. He'd met several people who he liked: Kiku was lovely to talk to and Matthew was a sweetheart— Francis was a lucky bastard to have found him. Even Gilbert made for amusing entertainment, and he could only commend Roderich for possessing the ability to handle him. Their story had been an interesting one to say the least, and it made Arthur's chest tighten when he thought about how his own story would be once he met the person he was destined to be with.

Which was another reason he was there. Francis had pestered him about getting out and meeting people, if only to expose himself to the chance to meet his soul mate— _honestly, Arthur, you're twenty-three and still haven't found them!_— and as Francis had said, he was sort of desperate; he'd always been a closet romantic, and it was sort of disheartening to think it would be any longer until he found them. So he'd put on a stiff upper lip, puffed out his chest, and let the frog drag him out for a night of celebration and drinking.

Not that he was having much luck. Arthur had indeed heard his words all night, from several people, but his first words back never matched or were unnecessary as they'd already found their soul mates. He was starting to get more snappish, though; since his soul mate's first words were so ignorant, his responses were not exactly inviting, and at this point he wondered if his soul mate didn't have something along the lines of "No, I'm Arthur" tattooed on their wrist.

It would definitely be amusing, he had to admit.

His drink was handed to him a moment later, and he sipped it lazily as he watched the patrons mingle, laughing and telling stories and just generally gossiping about trivial things as they enjoyed their night. He grimaced to himself with a longing sigh.

"Ah, _mon ami!_" Arthur cringed as Francis sauntered up to him, Matthew smiling from his side, and sparing only a passing glance for the smiling man he was towing around. The Frenchman's smile was devious. "There is someone we would like you to meet, _cher!_"

Arthur took a sip of his drink. "You've been saying that all night, frog. I haven't been overly impressed."

Matthew laughed. "Last one, we promise." He turned to the man standing with them. "This is Alfred, my twin brother. He works in upper management."

Arthur was rooted to the spot as his eyes travelled over the lad. He was a looker, much like Matthew, but in a different way; his hair was like spun gold, the little strand sticking up bouncing around and his bangs framing his face enticingly. Blue eyes sparkled at Arthur from behind thin rectangle wire frames set on a sharp nose, and the brightest, widest smile Arthur had ever seen was spread on his lips. His heart was beating heavily, and a warm feeling in his chest was spreading through his veins.

Arthur had to search to find his ability to speak, feeling the blush on his cheeks. "Well, Matthew, he's a right copy of you, isn't he."

The Canadian rolled his eyes. "We get that a lot."

Alfred just continued to stare at Arthur, smile cheery and his own face lightly flushed. "Dude, you're British!"

And there went Arthur's good first impression. His face dropped into an irritated scowl. "Actually, I'm Arthur Kirkland." Okay, so the sarcasm probably wasn't necessary, but it did seem like such a waste for such a charming young man to be so simple. "But it was a commendable observation nonetheless."

It was strange to see Alfred's expression go from happy to awed realization so quickly. Arthur watched him with slight concern that turned to complete confusion when he noticed the excited and knowing looks shared between Francis and Matthew. "What?"

"It's you!" Alfred exclaimed breathlessly, his smile so wide Arthur was sure it would split his face. "You're my soul mate!"

Arthur froze again, watching in stunned silence as Alfred held up his wrist, showing him the _"Actually, I'm Arthur Kirkland."_ Inked on the tanned skin. He looked down at his own words, seeing Alfred's hand enter his vision to trace over his flesh. He glanced back up, his eyes meeting the stunning azure of Alfred's irises and the tender warmness of his grin.

Arthur felt his breath catch momentarily as his own answering smile appeared. "You are completely unoriginal, you know that?"

Alfred laughed, taking Arthur's hand and twining their fingers together. Arthur stepped closer. "What can I say? Every American loves a sexy British accent."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's an English accent, poppet."

"Is there a difference?"

By their wedding three years later, Alfred knew the difference was really whether he was sleeping on the couch or not.

_END_

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**_Reviews are always welcomed and appreciated! Leave your thoughts: good, bad, and everything in between. _**

**_Much love, dears. :3  
~GarryxMrChairFan_**


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